


A Way to Forget

by liamthebastard



Series: That One Human AU [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamthebastard/pseuds/liamthebastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's descent into drinking, followed by his recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’d started innocently enough. Dean had always hung out with older kids, and once his dad was out of the picture, off travelling, it just got easier. Bobby _trusted_ him, let him run around so long as he was back by ten on school nights. On weekends he could stay out until midnight. So, yeah, him and the older kids would knock back a few beers in the parking lot, one of them having bought the six packs with a fake ID. 

By thirteen Dean had his own fake ID, and had perfected the art of looking twenty-one. It was impressive, he never actually looked any older, but something in how he carried himself made him seem old enough to be buying bottles of vodka on a Tuesday night. 

Soon it wasn’t buying for him and friends, it was buying for just him. He had it stashed all around his room, under his bed, in his closet. He kept telling himself he just liked the way it felt, the way his body would go sort of weightless and warm. But he knew that wasn’t all of it. He liked how it would dissolve his responsibilities, all the things that were his fault. He liked that it made him forget. 

Cas didn’t like it. He kept trying to set things up with Dean at night, things to keep him from drinking. Dean knew what he was up to, though, and by their sophomore year he’d settled into a comfortable routine of keeping sober during the school week, spending his evenings studying or goofing off with Cas, and then getting absolutely trashed on weekends. 

Even that made Cas frown, but frankly Dean figured he was owed his vices. It wasn’t like he was driving or anything. If he’d had too much –and he always knew when he’d had too much– he’d call Cas, and Cas would wake Luci and they would drive to pick him up. 

When he was eighteen, with an apartment in town and a liquor cabinet all his own, he’d asked Cas to move in with him. Cas had agreed enthusiastically, but Dean couldn’t ignore the slightly disappointed look on his face when he’d seen the half dozen bottles of whiskey in the cabinet and the six-pack of beer in the fridge. 

So he’d found a second vice, something that Cas, while not thrilled over, would at least find less self-destructive. He bought a motorcycle. What Cas didn’t know was that when he’d go out for his evening rides, and be gone for a few hours, he only rode for maybe thirty minutes. He’d drive out to a bar, someplace skeevy enough that they wouldn’t bother carding him, and drink until he was just drunk enough to forget, but still sober enough to drive.

But his control started to slip. It got harder and harder to tell when he was still good to drive, and when he needed to stop slamming back glasses of whiskey. He supposed it was only a matter of time before he got caught. He hadn’t expected it to be so dramatic though.

Two fractured ribs and a concussion, along with a handful of minor contusions. Doctors said he was lucky, that the accident could’ve been so much worse than it was. 

That didn’t stop Cas from going white as a sheet when he saw Dean hooked up to three different machines and an IV. It also didn’t keep Sammy from going half-crazy when he saw his brother all beat up. 

And it didn’t keep Dean from returning to his routine the next week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas finds little ways to make things easier for Dean.

After the fight, after Dean had nearly lost Cas, Dean had resolved to do better. He and Cas took all the whiskey and beer in the house, and unceremoniously dropped it off on Luci’s front porch. His motorcycle had been sold, and the bars he’d once frequented fell by the wayside. 

But still he needed to forget. 

Too many deaths haunted him; too many people relied on him. He needed a way to escape, to free himself from all the things he’d seen and done. The mistakes he’d made, the people he’d hurt. They followed him around, casting shadows on everything he did, the plans he and Cas made. He couldn’t shake them, no matter how hard he tried, and without the alcohol to offer relief, he was at a loss on what to do.

He managed, of course, putting on his brave face and pushing forward. But Cas always called him on it, or did something to try and cheer him up. 

On a particularly bad day, about two months after he’d stopped drinking, he’d come home to a warm apartment that smelled delicious, and a boyfriend covered head-to-toe in flour and sugar. Dean came up behind him in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Cas’s waist. 

“Cas, what’re you doing?” Dean laughed, brushing some of the flour from the man’s shoulder. 

“Baking,” Cas replied swatting his hands away with a chuckle. 

“I didn’t know you baked,” Dean said, surprised. Cas turned in his arms so they were face to face. He shrugged.

“I don’t. Amelia gave me the recipe,” Cas said with a smile. “I figured it’d be a nice surprise for when you got home.”

Dean laughed, of course Sammy’s girlfriend was teaching his boyfriend how to bake. It made as much sense as anything else in his life. “Okay, so what’d you make?” he asked. Cas flushed, going a light pink from the tips of his ears down to his neck. 

“Apple pie,” Cas answered quietly. 

That stopped Dean short. His mom used to bake pies for him and Cas and Sam, and while Sam and Cas always liked cherry best, Dean always wanted apple. He’d always let Sam and Cas have their way, and once in a while Cas would ask Mary, quiet and polite as ever, if she wouldn’t mind making an apple pie this time. Mary always would, with a smile, and she’d usually give them some ice cream to go with. 

He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to Cas’s forehead, his throat quivering a little. “Thank you,” he whispered, trying to hide how thick his voice had suddenly become. Cas understood, holding him lightly as Dean swallowed back tears. 

That evening was a turning point. Later, as they ate the pie, Dean talked about his mom. Though Cas had been there for most of it, there were little things he’d never known. 

“She used to tell me, every night before bed, that angels were watching over me,” Dean mentioned. Cas raised an eyebrow.

“She called me angel,” Cas pointed out. Dean smiled.

“Yeah. She did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this was supposed to be an all-angst fic. And fluff made its way in somehow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief is strange.

Grief is a funny thing. It shows up in different ways, it changes the longer you hold it. If it has the chance, it will consume you, burn you until there’s nothing left. Grief destroys you, wipes you to the ground and then kicks you while you’re down there. 

But grief can also help you. Rain a cool healing down on you when you need it most. Stitch you back together and leave with a tiny scar, something to show off a little bit later on when you’re with friends. Remind you that you’re alive, that you’re hurting because you survived. 

Grief hurts. But it makes you different if you come out of it. You won’t come out of it unscathed, but you will come out of it different. Whether that difference is positive or negative, it’s up to you. 

So grief is strange. It’s drinking until you can’t see straight, and crashing a motorcycle. It’s also baking a pie because you don’t know what else to do. It’s screaming and shouting and then it’s holding and crying. It’s early mornings when you can’t get out of bed and late nights where you can’t get into it. It’s breaking down when a certain song comes on the radio, and it’s only listening to certain stations to avoid that song. It’s _I wish I’d never met you_ and _please dear God never leave me_. It’s _I know you don’t mean that_ and _I swear I’m not going anywhere_. 

Grief can only happen because love was there first.

**Author's Note:**

> So my understanding of alcoholism is abstract at best, seeing as my family is LDS. If I got something wrong or skewed, please, do mention it to me! I love comments, especially constructive criticism.


End file.
